


moment's silence

by JoanofArc



Series: darejones [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: (read:for making her mourn him), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and I'll give it to them even if I have to force it on them, and jess has definitely punched him for being an idiot, it's... kinda fluff, jess is a mess, matt is a saint, mentions of kilgrave but it's vague, they deserve happiness damn it, they heal, this is set somewhere in the future after they reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanofArc/pseuds/JoanofArc
Summary: january 20th sucks more than other days. luckily for jess, matt is there to catch her when she falls.orsometimes, all you need is a reminder that you're not as broken as you thought you were.





	1. like a shrike

'whrw r u?' galaxy narrates.

it takes matt a couple moments to decipher it, but only because its three in the morning and he's been asleep for maybe five minutes. but jessica is texting him, obviously drunk. and while the latter is not an uncommon occurance, she has the alcohol tolerance of someone three times her size, she doesn't text him, unless it's some menial little thing. all in all, it triggers the warning bells in his head, so he stands up, pulls on a shirt.

"galaxy, text jessica jones: at home, fullstop. why, question mark. send."

the reply comes almost instantly, while he's busy rubbing sleep from his eyes.

'nermd u to cme pucf me uo'

this time it takes more than a few minutes to decipher, so he decides to call instead, because otherwise this is going to take all night. she replies on the first ring, but he can hear already the way her breathing isn't quite right. it's harder to decipher things over the phone, with how the noise is processed and all that static, but something is not right. 

"jessica? hey? where are you?" matt tries to keep his voice light, to hide the worry in his tone, because that's the last thing she needs right now. she's quiet as he changes into a pair of jeans and pulls on his hoodie, but the stilted breathing on the line tells him she didn't hang up. he's about to decide that maybe she fell asleep when she replies.

"i- don't know..." oh god, is that a sniffle? if he was worried before, it gets even worse now. he stumbles with his shoes and jacket, halfway through the door before he fully has them on.

"hey, hey, it's fine. can you focus on me? tell me what you see."

"i'm..." she's fully sobbing now, and he hears a heavy thud, like she dropped something heavy on the ground. his heart clenched, because Jessica is the strongest woman he knows, and he's got a track record of surrounding himself with strong women. so for her to be like that? matt suddenly feels the need to feel bones crack under his fists, to have blood run down the streets, because she's hurt, someone hurt her and they're going to pay, they're going to -

"there's a... restaurant. i think. an alley?" the words pull him from his thoughts, and he concentrates on her instead. he can find her even if she doesn't know where she is, as long as she keeps talking, as long as she doesn't go silent.

it takes ten more minutes for him to locate jessica. and oh, she's a mess... curled up against the wall of a damp alley, phone clutched in her hand, eyes squeezed shut. he can tell she's shaking, but that might be the cold. january is unforgiving, and she's only wearing her leather jacket. he can hear it groan with every shallow inhale.

slowly, as if approaching a sleeping lion, careful to telegraph his movements beforehand, he steps closer. he's learned the hard way not to spook her, but he's never seen her like this. shaken. _terrified._

"jess, hey, can you hear me?"

a nod is all he gets, as he crouches down next to her, suppressing a shiver of his own.

"are you okay?"

she shakes her head this time; her hair sweeps over her shoulders rapidly, and he's careful to offer her a hand without actually touching her.

"that's fine. that's okay. do you think you can stand? we should get you out from the cold."

another shake of her head. what was it sister veronica said about him? the patience of a saint? while that might have been a sarcastic retort, he's going to need all of it now.

"is it okay if i touch you? i only want to help you up and then get you home."

matt hears her heart start to beat even faster, and he might be no medic, but he's pretty sure that it's actually dangerous for it to speed up like that. she's been letting him touch her a lot lately, mindless little things that to anyone else but jessica jones would mean nothing. somehow, he knows that it's her own way of communicating without words, because they're both terrible at conveying emotions through words anyway. still, he asks, because it's better than the alternative. because he never wants her to feel pressured with him. 

so when she tenses, he assumes that reaction is to the offer of touch. he starts to pull back, but she grabs at his hand with both of hers, holding on tight.

"n-not home..." her skin is cold, and her voice is trembling so hard it's a miracle it doesn't shatter. he hates seeing her like this. hates not knowing what to do to take it all away, shoulder her cross so it wouldn't crush her. he's pretty sure she'd kick his ass if she caught on to that particular thought, though. 

matt shifts his hold, linking his fingers with hers, his arm coming around her shoulders to help her up. she's surprisingly light for someone with so much strength, and she wobbles only a little, unsteady on her feet. 

she smells so heavily of alcohol, with only a faint undertone of her coconut shampoo, and so much fear it almost overpowers his senses. the way she melts into him doesn't calm his racing heart.

"hey, hey, it's okay, sweetheart. I'm going to take you back to my place, okay?"

she doesn't reply, but her heartbeat slows down a little, so he takes that as consent. she's still tense though, adrenaline clinging to her skin like an unpleasant aftertaste, and her fingers tighten around his, once. it'd be nice, maybe, if she wasn't so obviously scared of something. her hand in his. the weight of her pressed onto his side. _dangerous thoughts, matthew, pull yourself together._

it's late enough that nobody would think twice about the way he maneuvers her, and he angles his gaze downwards to pass as sighted, but he keeps to dark little alleys anyway, because jess feels a little less like fear when they're not out in the open. it's fine by him, whatever makes her feel better, and jesus isn't that the revelation of the century? he'd do anything for her, but for now he just lets her use him as a guiding light, as a warmth source, as a break from the demons dogging at her heels. he'll deal with the fallout later. for now, he will just enjoy the feeling of being useful to someone who so rarely requires others. 

*

the apartment is warm, but matt is still pressed against her side, and jess is grateful. she feels cold, can't remember the last time she hasn't felt cold, like ice is running through her veins, and she can't bring herself to breathe properly.

he hasn't said a word since they got here - hasn't asked her about what was going on, why she texted him in the middle of the night, on a weekday, too drunk to even walk properly. she wants to thank him, but every time she opens her mouth, all she can produce is a choked out sob. okay, so maybe she's more drunk than she thought she was. _fucking sue her_.

it feels like centuries until she moves, but it's not to pull away. she needs another body close to her, needs the reassurance that she's not alone. so she turns, presses her face into his deltoid, fingers curling into his hoodie. matt seems to know what she needs, because he pulls her in his lap, lets her hide her face against his neck, even as her tears are probably getting his collar wet.

"shh, shh, i've got you, jess. i've got you. you're safe."

his fingers wind up in her hair, and her arms curl around his shoulders, warm and steady and secure. not dead. not _him_ either. matt carries that clean scent that's decidedly male, whereas _he_ wore cologne like a second skin. matt's hoodie is worn and soft, whereas _he_ only wore expensive suits, silk and so much fucking purple. matt is safe. she's not back there, and _he's dead. he's_ dead for real this time. she made sure of it. 

she feels the tension in her muscles relax. not completely, not _today,_ but it's not the rampant storm in her chest either. he keeps whispering things to her, little mindless reassurances she feels rumble from his chest more than she hears, and this is as fine as she can get right now. 

god, this feels exactly like that fucking cheesy shit trish loved to watch in movies so much. the hero barging in to save the damsel in distress from whatever threat, carrying her to safety. but jess has never been anyone's damsel and matt has learned the hard way that sacrificing himself for her isn't a good idea.

and yet it's _nice._ it's nicer than anything she has felt in a while, except the diners with oscar before he and vido moved out. except what she and luke could have had, in another universe, somewhere, if she wasn't this much of a fuck up. and oh. _oh no_. she's throughly fucked. she's genuinely, truly fucked. 

her heartbeat must have given her away, because matt presses a hand against her shoulder, tightens his arm around her waist. he probably thinks she's getting another panic attack which, okay, it's not so far off, but this is not that, it's so, so much **_worse._**

"jessica, hey," why the fuck does he have to say her name so soft? she'd growl, but she only presses closer to him, holds back the venom. "hey, what's wrong? talk to me, please."

she swallows. it's bad enough that the realisation had to hit her on this day out of any other, but he's concerned for her, and she hates how much she doesn't hate it. how much she doesn't hate him.

jessica pulls back to look at him, his face so close to hers. his unseeing gaze tries to pinpoint hers, but ends up flitting between her right cheekbone and her ear, little reminders that his freaky radar senses only go so far. there are scars around his eyes, little netting of telltale signs you can only see from this distance. his irises have gold flecks scattered through the brown. fuck it, she's not blind _(ha!),_ she's noticed the cut of his jaw since they first met, the broadness in his shoulders, and -

"kiss me." 

it comes out, like most things in her life, without her actually thinking about it. matt startles, his head tilting to the side in that way that he always does whenever he's trying to listen to something real hard, that way which makes him look like a damn golden retriever or something.

he moves the hand that had dropped to her shoulder to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing at the bone. why does he have to look at her like that? like she's worth something. like she's not a fucking monster. 

"no. jess, you're drunk, and you're not fine and i don't... "

"please, matt. i just -" 

she sniffles. wipes at her nose with the back of her hand, because damn it, she's crying again, and he just doesn't get it.

"i... i just need to f-feel something."

something that isn't this gaping hole inside her chest. something that isn't the constant emptiness gnawing at her bones, vermin under her skin. something that isn't _him._

matt gets it. he always does.

"oh, jess..."

the gentleness in his voice breaks her. it breaks her, pulls her apart, tugs at the seams that had cracked open long ago. and then he builds her back together, the touch of his fingers chasing her tears, his lips at her forehead.

"i want to," he says, because he knows better by now than to let her mind wonder. a confession, of sorts, pushing at their already precarious friendship. maybe he's counting on the fact that she's too drunk to remember it, or maybe... "i want to, jess, but you're drunk. c'mon, let's get you to bed."

she can't do anything but nod dumbly. lets him move her off him and onto the couch while he stumbles over to the kitchen. she hears the faucet running, and then he's back, a glass of water in his hand, which he presses into hers, doesn't let go until her grip is steady. she drinks it all, just because.

he doesn't wait for her, though. he's already pulling her up by the hand, moving with sure steps towards the bedroom. once, she would have thought it weird how a blind dude could navigate the world so much better than her. she knows better now. there have never been secrets between them, not even in the beginning, before his death and subsequent revival. maybe that's why she trusts him.

"do you need something to sleep in?" he asks, and she nods her head. she's still in her jacket and boots, but doesn't move from the spot he left her in while he roots around for one of his college sweaters.

matt helps her out of her clothes, because her hands are shaking so hard. the sweater is too big on her, but it's warm and soft, her fingers curling into the hem, stretching the material carefully. it smells like detergent and something else, something she can't quite pinpoint.

he sighs, and he frowns, but he doesn't say anything else until she's sandwiched between silk sheets and a thick blanket. his fingers run through her hair again, and jess hasn't really been tucked in since before the accident. back when her parents were alive and her life wasn't this big fucking mess that just seems to get worse with her every inhale.

"go to sleep. i'll go take the couch."

she shakes her head, already falling asleep but not enough to let him slip away. her fingers close around his wrist and tug softly, until he sighs at her again. it's a common occurrence: his sigh, around her, conveying so many things. exasperation, and fondness, and something she can't quite place, doesn't know how to explain. or maybe they're just denying it, because that's another thing they're so good at. 

it must be the way her heart started beating faster at the thought of him leaving that changes his mind, because he nods, gently pries her fingers from his hand.

"okay. i'm gonna change, i'm not going anywhere."

she watches him as he does, maybe because he can't exactly tell she's watching. tugs off his hoodie and slips out of his jeans, pulling on some sleep pants he had laying around. probably from before she woke him up. she'd feel guilty, but she can't bring herself to care. not now. not with him so near. 

and then he's climbing into bed, a proper distance between them, the perfect gentleman. it's not like she doesn't know he's anything but, like she hasn't noticed the way he looks at her sometimes, when he thinks he's being stealthy. he's awful at being stealthy for someone who successfully leads a double life. 

 _i want to,_ his voice in his head echoes back at her. she's not having it. so she moves, turns on to her side until she's pressed against him, a leg carelessly thrown over his. he concedes after a moment or two in which he stays frozen solid, and his arm comes around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

there is comfort to be found in the crook of his neck. like nothing can get her here, with his arms around her. the thought ought to terrify her, to prompt her to run, but he rubs little circles into her back, and she's too tired to care. 

"thanks, matt" gratitude never comes early to her, but this feels right. the moment blankets her in comfort enough for her walls to come down just a little bit. futile. it's a little too late for that, with how he scaled the fortress before she even had the time to lower the gates. 

"anytime, jess. _anytime."_  

she can feel his lips press against her forehead, just the briefest of touches, and he's whispering something else to her, but she's too far gone into dreamland to catch it. it sounds importnat, though like spun silver slipping between her fingers.

she wants to grab a hold of it, to pull herself back into wakefulness, to ask him to repeat himself. instead, she nuzzles closer, her fingers resting over his chest, against his beating heart. 

jessica sleeps, and for once, she doesn't dream of heliotrope shadows strangling her, and the smile she sees in her mind's eye isn't purple and razor sharp. 


	2. to your sharp and glorious thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they talk. and then they don't.

she's not in her bed. her head is pounding, harsh pressure between her bones, like the fucking hulk is sitting on her skull and it's going to crack any minute. there's an arm around her waist, keeping her pressed securely against a naked chest.

her breathing gets laboured, heartbeat quickening so fast it makes her head light. the arm around her retreats slowly, the movement telegraphed, like any sudden shift would send her spiralling any more than she is.

she doesn't want to open her eyes. doesn't want to see _him_ again. maybe if she keeps them clenched shut, _he_ wouldn't have any power over her again, _he_ wouldn't be able to whisper sugar coated words in her ear, so sweet it makes her nauseous, maybe -

"jess -"

 ** _matt._** it's matt's voice. she lets her eyelids fall open, despite the protests from her hangover. she's in matt's bedroom, with its bare plaster walls and ugly furniture. she's not in an impersonal little hotel, or is some poor asshole's house, whisked out from under their feet with a smile and a command. kilgrave isn't back. _she killed him_.

"hey, can you focus on my voice, sweetheart?"

she can, which means she snorts at his choice of endearment. he seems to take that as a good sign, because his hand comes to rub at her back, gentle little circles, the pressure strong and steady.

she lets him. doesn't move from her spot on the bed, but doesn't stop him either. _baby steps,_ malcolm would call them, but malcolm is busy kissing ass at the new firm he went to, and the realisation feels a little bit hollow.

"i'm fine," she says, because he makes another inquisitive little sound, not pushing, but not letting it slide either. give and take, like the slow cadence of tidal waves.

jessica groans, pressing an arm over her eyes, which prompts him to laugh, which in turn prompts her to blindly reach backwards and poke at him. her finger connects with his rib, which only makes him laugh harder.

fuck. this feels... borderline domestic.

"stay here. i'm going to get you something for that hangover."

she's not complaining. burrows further under the blankets, chases after the last vestiges of peaceful sleep. _huh._ peaceful sleep? when was the last time she slept without the threat of nightmares?

she's gotten so used to her constant state of at least marginally fucked up that this morning would feel surreal if not for her hangover. she's almost grateful for the pain, because it grounds her in the present, doesn't allow her to drift away in a cloud of self hatred and paranoia.

matt and her are friends. friends do this kind of things for each other. right? yeah, that line of thought feels a little brittle even to her.

he comes back shortly after with coffee and some pills, and she takes them from him greedily, thankful for the note of whiskey to off balance the bitterness. it's not as much as she would have liked it to be, but hey, she's in no position to complain, here in his bed, wearing his fucking fancy lawyer school sweater, while he's watching her from the edge of the mattress. he's fidgeting with the glasses in his hands, and he's careful to keep his stance open and gentle.

she knows that look.

oh, boy, here we go. _three, two..._

"jess..." he's careful to make his voice soft, to curl his spine so that he seems non-threatening. like she doesn't know about all the shit he's capable of. still, she lets him play pretend, because it makes him feel better. he opens his mouth, grimaces, clears his throat. tries again after another moment of silence, "pretty rough night, huh?"

she snorts, curling up her legs under her and tucking the blankets around her shoulders. she's not doing this sober, and the alcohol in her coffee is barely enough for her to feel it.

"cut the chase, murdock, i'm not going to suddenly freak on you if you ask the questions you want to ask."

it's kind of a lie, but he lets it slide. it wouldn't be the first time she ghosted on him for pressing too hard on one of her bruises, and they both know it won't be the last. but it's all the consent she can give, so he'll take it.

" what... happened last night? if you don't mind me asking?"

nope. totally not doing it sober. still holding the blankets over her shoulders, armour in place for the leather jacket she clings to as if a safety shield, jess pushes off the bed and bee lines towards the kitchen, where she knows he keeps one of her favourite brands of whiskey. it's a little more expensive than the bottom shelf swill she usually drinks, but hey, it's his money.

by now she knows his apartment well enough to know where the glasses are. the revelation sits uncomfortably in the pit of the stomach, but she pushes it away in favour of pouring him one full glass and taking the bottle for herself.

matt follows her around, trying to gauge whether she'll take the door or the window this time. she does neither. instead, she drops down on his couch, holds out the glass of whiskey for him. 

he doesn't take it, and he gives her a skeptical look she dismisses with a roll of her eyes. 

"as much as i appreciate the fact that you thought of me, i don't think drinking at ten in the morning is the best of ideas, miss jones."

it's his lawyer voice, the one that always sets her a little on edge. the sharpness of a knife hidden beneath velvet. he doesn't use it on her, but sometimes it slips through, like the cracks in his facade aren't glued on properly. they're growing complacent, she knows. guards down, until the next big fucked up thing comes and ruins the fragile balance. 

to be fair, it's usually jessica's fault. 

when they're not fighting ninja zombies and then it's totally, definitely _**his.**_ maybe danny's too, if she's feeling generous. 

"yeah, well, though shit, you'll need it. sit the fuck down."

his couch is ugly but it's safe - it holds memories of days just like this one, with her feet in his lap while they're both working, or drinking in silence together late at night after a particular rough tumble in the streets.

except, no. not like this one. there's tension in the air and he looks at her like she'll break all over again. her headache isn't really helping matters, but he deserves to know why he had to come pick her up from a random alley.

it doesn't mean she doesn't dread telling him. because good old saint matthew is the patron saint of all things fucked up in hell's kitchen, and she knows he's going to wind up blaming himself for this, too, like he somehow could have anticipated something she hasn't told him about.

he sits down, the glass cradled between his hands, and somehow she can feel all of his senses on her, reading her. it doesn't bother her as much as it used to. 

"okay. but jess - you don't have to tell me anything, if you don't want to..."

"i do. if i don't tell you, you're going to end up overthinking it anyway, and it's still going to end up in this conversation because you're fucking annoying when you mope."

he has the decency to look at least a little bit guilty.

she takes a big gulp of alcohol, relinquishes into the burn down her throat, the warmth it spreads through her body. he's still sitting upright while she's slouching over, but that's because he's trying so hard to read her reactions, to see what line is drawn in the sand and what line is embedded into bedrock.

and then she takes another gulp, for good measure.

"you read my file," she says, and she can see the exact moment when her words sink in, when his face drops and his fists clench. _huh._

it's not really a question, but he answers to it anyway, 

"i - yeah, i went over it with hogarth when i took your case, but i swear i didn't read too much into it -"

"january twentieth."

it shuts him up. jess closes her eyes, presses the heel of her hand into her temple, hard, before rubbing at her face. the whiskey doesn't even sting anymore. 

"it's, ah... the day i escaped _him,_ you know. the first time. the day i... the day i killed that woman."

his hand around hers is warm, but he feels far away. she opens her eyes to watch him, and he's silent for a while.

then,

"it wasn't your fault, jess. what that asshole made you do wasn't your fault."

the laugh that gets punched out of her chest is so brittle she worries he's going to cut himself on the shards, but he doesn't even as much as flinch. fucking martyr complex.

"but i did!... _i did_. i felt her ribs crack under my palm and then i was running and he's calling my name, yelling at me to get back, but i can't, i can't stop fucking running -"

she can picture kilgrave easily.  _too easily._ his face contorted in anger, the cadence of his speech clogging her ears, sharp vowels and rolled out consonants. hope's voice, too, bitter and rough: you should have checked. you should have checked to see if he was really dead. 

jessica is not crying again, thank god or whatever, but matt sets down his glass, wraps an arm around her to pull her to his chest. it sucks. everything about this fucking sucks.

"you're not responsible for that... for that _monster,_ jessica. you were not in control. you did what he told you, because you couldn't do anything else."

and here's the thing. she doesn't know if she believes that anymore. not with the way he got in her head, split snake tongue and venomous breath. 

_i never told you to kill her, jessica. i just told you to get rid of her. you did all that on your own._

and even if she didn't...

"she was luke's wife."

"jesus, jess."

the tone of his voice is not exasperated for the reason it should be. it's soft, in the way she doesn't deserve, because she doesn't deserve understanding. doesn't deserve him.

"i killed his wife and then i fucked him and -"

"no. jess. hey. stop. stop, look at me."

there he goes with the lawyer voice again, but he's cupping her face in his hands to make her look at him, even if he can't quite meet her gaze. he knows it'll get her to listen to him, and the position is uncomfortable, with her torso almost bent in half, but she does what he asks anyway.

"yeah, you did a fucked up thing. but everybody does. but jess, her death isn't on you." she opens her mouth to protest, but he shakes his head, presses his lips to her forehead. she has the vague recollection of him doing this the night before, so she stops herself from saying anything. "it's not. nothing that asshole made you do is your fault. and in the end, you made sure that he couldn't hurt anyone else. you did the best you could in a shitty situation, but none of that is your fault."

hope's blood on her hands, ruben dead in her bed. her childhood bedroom, exactly as it was, submerged in purple. like a bruise spreading. 

jaw clenched tight, she shakes her head, curls her fingers into the material of her sweater, pulls back to take another sip from the bottle.

"i almost didn't. i was going to run to fucking china, because suddenly he wasn't dead and he was back and i -"

something in his expression tells her he gets it. and how couldn't he? whatever thing he and elektra had, it ended up nasty, and people showing up back from the dead is never fun. except him, it seems. but if anyone jessica knows deserves the second chance, it's matthew murdock.

"you did. you didn't run, and you tried your best. sometimes that's all you can do."

she wishes he'd take his own damn advice, but can't bring herself to say it. this isn't about him, as easy as it would be to deflect. and it _is_ easy, second nature for her by now, keep everyone away because she's a time bomb waiting to go off. because everything she touches turns to dust, to decay, to rot. how long until she breaks him too?

"I can see you spiralling," he says, that furrow of his brow back in place. she wants to smooth it out with her thumb. she doesn't.

"you can't see shit, murdock," she replies instead, and it does the trick because his features relax from the frown, shift into laughter.

"ouch." he pokes at her arm, and she moves until she's more comfortable, sprawled as she is across his lap. it gives him more space for dramatics, though, because he presses a hand to his heart, purses his lips. "defeated with my own jokes. low blow, jones, low blow."

that gets her to laugh too, a little, and her grip on the bottle loosens. she sets it down on the floor, lets her gaze slide down to his bared chest. he can't see her do it, anyway. probably. and her eyes move back to his face quickly anyway.

but it does the trick, because she's not as tense as she was before. baby steps indeed. 

"that's because your jokes are shit, matt. everyone else is just trying not to be an asshole so they don't use them against you."

"oh, because you're a self proclaimed asshole, and you care so little about the world, huh? anarchy and heavy metal. you probably claimed you were in a cult back in high school."

that damn eyebrow raises again, and she huffs at him, makes it sound indignant and not like she's laughing.

"careful, counsellor, i've got an image to maintain."

trust matt to make her feel better on what essentially accounts for the worst day of her life. trish had tried, but trish trying felt too much like kilgrave's words whispered into her ear, commands on how to live her life, on how to be better, sooner, now.

matt never really expects her to be better. he doesn't expects her to be anything but what she is. he knows her trauma intimately, has seen her at her worst, and he's still here, looking at her like she's worthy. but it's not one sided. she looks at his demons and laughs in their faces, unfazed. he might go around wearing horns and proclaim himself the devil, but she's seen the real deal, has spend a year locked in hell, and he's the farthest thing from that.

they settle after that. his hand going back to playing with his hair, as if being given permission to do so is what he's been waiting for all his life, and now he just can't stop. she has her hand pressed against his sternum, over his beating heart, trying to time her breaths with his. in and out. ba-dum. ba-dum. ba-dum.

"i'm not drunk now," she says, finally, after a couple more minutes of silence, stating the obvious. he looks a little startled, before the realisation dawns, and then he smiles, soft and gentle and sweet.

"aren't you always?" it's teasing, bit his voice drops down, another type of teasing than their usual back and forth banter. _i want to,_ he had said the night before, when she was a mess and he, for once, wasn't.

"don't be an asshole."

"that's kinda the thing i'm the best at, i'm afraid. i'm pretty sure you said that to me a couple times."

she laughs, and then he's laughing too. then she's moving, stranding his legs, and the laughter dies down.

"i'm a fuck up with a trauma history bigger than new york,"

"jess-"

"no, let me finish." he nods, and then she nods, her fingers brushing over his jaw, feeling the stubble catch. "you came for me last night."

"i did."

another nod. her thumb swipes over the corner of his mouth, and he leans his cheek into her palm, chases after the touch.

"this is probably a very, very bad idea, judging by the fact that i'm absolutely shit at being a well adjusted human being. and you're just as bad."

stirling. elektra. luke. claire. all signs that this shouldn't work.

"mmhm, it probably is."

his hands find her waist, sure and secure and big, thumb hooking under her shirt where it has ridden up with her movement. it's calloused and rough, probably from all that braille.

"maybe you should take me to the bedroom anyway."

she leans down, until his breath is warm on her lips, but them he's stopping her with a hand on the shoulder, the other cupping her cheek she pulls back and _fuck_ \- his eyes are wide, and maybe she misread this, maybe he hadn't meant it, or her alcohol infused brain had remembered it all wrong, or -

"is that all you want?"

she blinks, pulls herself together just enough to process his question.

"what do you mean?"

"i - is sex all that you want? because i... i don't really do that, and if this is just some way for you to release some tension, or... or i don't know, but i'd rather skip it if it is. i like having you around and i don't want anything to change because we... we work well together. "

he's cute when he's flustered and stammering. but also, of fucking course matt is the type of dude to ask this kind of questions right before sex, questions she's rather postpone thinking about until they come bite her.

"are you... seriously asking me this right now?"

matt flinched back, and she really wishes she would have kept the bite out of her words, because fuck. yeah, _fuck._

"look, jess, you're not... in a good place right now -"

"i'm never in a good place!"

"- but i don't want to... to pressure you into anything, or take advantage of you when you're being so vulnerable. don't get me wrong, i like the fact that you're allowing yourself to be vulnerable around me, and i want you to know that i'm always here for you if you need me, but..."

she kisses his mouth shut. for a moment he does nothing but stand there, frozen. but then he's opening up under her insistence, his fingers winding up in her hair, tugging, and she melts against him.

kissing matt is a religious experience. tastes like forgiveness, like understanding. but it's so much more than that. he has so much more to give than his scars, and when she reaches for his hand to link their fingers together, there are no holes made by rusty nails in the palms.

"it's not a one time thing. don't make me spell it out for you. i thought you were supposed to be smart" she huffs, and it's enough for him, because he stands up, her legs coiled around his waist, walks her to the bed.

later, much later, he's tracing patterns over her side and she feels warm and sated and she's stretched against his chest like a big cat. and fuck it, jess has never been a romantic, far from it even, but it feels good, like the universe has been waiting for this particular moment to rearrange itself.

"you came for me," she says, again, whispers it into the dip of a collarbone, as if she can trap the confession there and keep it hidden forever. a secret shared between the two of them.

he smiles at her, the soft, gentle smile that does things to her insides, lifts one hand to brush it over her cheek.

"anytime, jess."

and it doesn't fix everything. her life isn't magically less of a mess with him in it, and she's still got so many sharp edges for him to cut himself on. but maybe that's not the point of it.

maybe breathing gets a little easier, and her world is a little less purple with him in it. 


End file.
